


At The Edge of the Void

by oncetherelivedaboy



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncetherelivedaboy/pseuds/oncetherelivedaboy
Summary: They took him in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, it was cold and he had wrapped his thin coat as tightly as he could around himself. In the middle of a crowded street he’d been beaten over the head and dragged off screaming. No one came to his aid, they looked at the abductors in their masks and poor boy in their grasp and did their best to avert their eyes and pretend they didn’t hear him calling out to them.





	At The Edge of the Void

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in like an hour after replaying Dishonored 2 in a single sitting.

               He was fifteen, maybe sixteen when they finally came to take him away. He’d been in the dark hole for weeks. The chanting or singing was constant, it was never quiet. Wood boards covered the opening, strips of light seeped in during the day, but he’d been in their so long he’d lost count of how many it had been. Sometimes he sang along, they brought him food when he slept, he never saw their faces.

               He was to be their sacrifice, his blood would run out. The Void would take him, and spare them. It had been seeping into their world for quite awhile, making time act strangely, opening rifts that swallowed whole homes or dropped leviathans on the streets. He’d heard about it, in passing as he nicked bread from windows in hope that he wouldn’t starve that night. It had been beyond his caring, something for the religious orders to take care of and something for him to steer clear of. He wasn’t looking for salvation, he was just looking for his next meal.

               They took him in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, it was cold and he had wrapped his thin coat as tightly as he could around himself. In the middle of a crowded street he’d been beaten over the head and dragged off screaming. No one came to his aid, they looked at the abductors in their masks and poor boy in their grasp and did their best to avert their eyes and pretend they didn’t hear him calling out to them.

               The day the board comes off he holds no delusions of freedom as they drag him up, he’s too weak to do much more than comply. They bathe him in rich oils and fragranced soaps and dress him in fine clothes, his hands are adorned with rings and he is bound by rope. They feed him and his strength starts to come back. They drag him away from the homes they’ve been staying in, and he tries to straining against the ropes, but they hurt his wrists, rubbing his skin raw. His heart is beating so quickly and his mouth is dry and he can feel pinpricks against his hollowed eyes. He’s so scared, don’t they understand, that he isn’t worth anything, that no god will want a broken boy from the street, no matter how much you dress him up. He wants to cry, but he won’t give them the satisfaction.

               It ends in a dirty, half-flooded basement, a stone slab in the middle of the room and carved bones sitting at their head, inscribed with his name. He tries to shake the hands that push him forward free, tries to undo the knot between his wrists. He’s jostled farther forward, toward the altar.

“Please.” He begs, but their chanting continues and his pleas are left unanswered. “I don’t want to die, please, I’m not worth anything.” He’s forced to lay on the slab, his arms are secured, as are his legs. He looks up at the man standing over him. There is no use begging or trying to reason with them, they believe this is for the greater good. He lets the tears falls, the chanting rises in volume. He sees the blade, he can’t fathom his death. He closes his eyes and tries to find some peace within himself, thinking of the ocean. The sad sorrowful whale songs, their cries as they are heaved onto boats and dragged onto shore, slaughtered as they struggle for breath in their enormous bodies.

               It’s a strange sensation, the blood pouring from his neck. It’s warm and sticky. It only takes a moment for his consciousness to start slipping away. His head feels foggy, and his extremities go numb. For one glorious moment he feels as though he is floating on his back in the sea with the sun warming him. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes. A bright light fills the dark basement. He feels his eyes burning, his whole body burning. He’s screaming, a low guttural scream that turns into a whale’s song. When he opens his eyes he is not on the slab, but above it, looking down at his own blood splattered corpse. He feels the knowledge of eons filling his mind and he feels the power of the void in his veins and through his eyes he can see every scenario and every outcome. He has been made a god, and he’s facing the people who turned in.

               They bow to him as his feet touch the stone, they offer him prayers and lay bones and flowers at his feet. He pulls the void in around the basement, pulls them into the expanse that they so worship and adore and praise. One reaches out a hand to him. He smiles, for he is a god born of a boy with no one to love him and he has a world to burn down. For this moment, with the newness of omniscience and the anger and fear of death still fresh in his mind he is a vengeful god. He raises his arms and casts them all in stone, banishing them to an island at the edge of the Void, at the edge of his mind.

He expects some joy out of the act, but there is none. He’s bored with the ease of their slaughter, but maybe power, limited power but power, in the lives of others will offer him entertainment.  

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is oncetherelivedaboy.tumblr.com


End file.
